Bloodlines
by Blackrose0127
Summary: AU 1956. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Spanish Mafia boss, seeks a new ward and finds Lovino on the streets. Let the angst and death ensue. Unclear summary is on purpose. Suckers. *Itacest* TW: Character Deaths TW: Blood


**A/N: Hi,hi,hi! Guess who's back with another Itacest mafia story. I know, I really need to broaden my horizons. Ah, hell, who cares. I hope you enjoy, this journey is gonna be fun! :D**

"If you come with me, I can help you." His voice stated lowly as he tried to hand me a lump of bread and his canteen of water. The blazing sun seared into my bare flesh as the remaining fabric of my shirt stuck to my body with sweat. I glared at him, jawed clenched tightly.

"I don't need your help, I'm fine."

"I can see your ribs." He pushed the bread into my hand, letting the canteen dangle from my arm. I never looked away from him. I watched as he pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket, holding it between two full lips as he lit the tip. He took a puff, his vibrant green eyes staring into mine.

"I said I'm fine." I hissed, almost crushing the piece of bread between my fingers. He blew the smoke in my face, but I didn't falter the glare.

"I know where your brother is…" He said. My ears perked up like a puppy at the sound of its owner's voice. I haven't seen my brother in eleven years, since he was ripped from my mother's arms at the end of World War II. He was just a newborn baby; I was three. My dry throat closed on itself as the starting pin prick feeling of tears stabbed at the back of my eyes. What if he was lying to me? What if I go and my baby brother isn't there? Or more importantly, what if he's telling the truth?

"Fine. I'll go with you." I mumbled. His eyes lit up and he stood.

"Fantastico! Come on, we don't have time to waste!" He grasped my wrist and whisked me away to his car at the end of the street. The drive was long, and all I saw for miles was dust and dirt. He sat next to me, smelling of orchards and nutmeg. I couldn't stand it. "I'm Antonio, by the way."

"I know who you are. I'm poor not stupid." I spat. I felt him tense up in the seat next to me. He probably thought that poor people didn't ever read the newspaper, but it's kind of hard not to when that paper is your bed for the night. I smirked, feeling like I got the upper hand.

"So, if you know who I am, then you must know what I do, or where we're going." He stated. I shrugged.

"Maybe I do. What does it matter?"

"I guess it doesn't. You could've said that you didn't want to talk instead of giving me an attitude."

"I didn't know that I would have to say it at all." I retorted. He tensed more, and I continued to stare out the window of the car, watching the dust roll by.

We pulled up to this quaint little house in the middle of an orchard. Green, almost ripe tomatoes hung from the plants and they filled the air with a sweet aroma. Antonio led me into the house and it practically sparkled because it was so clean.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. My stomach answered before my mouth did, growling loudly in hunger. He led me into the kitchen which was sort of cute. The walls were plain, the wood was a soft chestnut colour, and the smell of sugar filled the room. Antonio pointed to a near-by chair at the table and I sat down. He pulled a small bell from his pocket, jingled it to produce a sound, and I could hear the soft tapping of feet against the floor. Soon, a petite boy entered the room. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was a girl. However, his short hair and adolescence gave him away. He looked at me and I almost fell out of my chair. It was like looking in a mirror. Everything about him was the same about me; he was just a different colour palette. His skin was ivory and his hair was auburn. His hazel eyes flickered from me to Antonio and I couldn't keep myself from staring at the little boy we had lost so many years ago.

"Feli, Make our guest something to eat please."

"Yes, sir." He said. His neatly pressed outfit made me feel out-of-place with my tattered clothing. I expected him to be this scared child after living with a mafia boss for God knows how long, but he merrily skipped around the kitchen, grabbing this for that and that for this. I felt entranced by his presence and I had to force myself to look somewhere else. I didn't notice when he finished until he placed a plate in front of me and it clinked against the table top.

"You know, you have very lovely eyes. They're the perfect shade of olive." He said. I tried not to roll them, but he was just so pretentious. My eyes are green. I ignored him and began digging into whatever the hell was on this plate. I'm not very familiar with Spanish food, but I think this is called Paella. I couldn't tell you how it tasted because I ate it so fast that it didn't have a taste. As soon as the plate was clean, I started to feel sick.

"Maybe you shouldn't have eaten so quickly." My brother said. Am I allowed to call him my brother? We are blood, but I haven't seen him since I was little.

"What's it to you?" I hissed. He faltered a bit, but it was so subtle that I barely caught it. That action alone made me wonder what he was like. It must be hard to be involved in the Spanish Mafia your whole life. Does he even know where he came from? Does he know who I am? Does it even matter?

"I have some clothes that you can borrow so you can get comfortable. Come on, I'll lead you to my room." He held out his hand. I grabbed it hesitantly. He led me to a small room at the top of the stairs. It was clean and plain, however, the walls were lined with paintings of various sizes. In the bottom right corner of each painting were the initials 'FVFC'. He also had a framed photo on his nightstand of him, sitting in a small basket of tomatoes, covered in the pulp. I snapped my head toward him when I heard the ruffle of fabric against the bed. He huffed as he looked at the obscene pile of clothing.

"I didn't know what you would like so I just grabbed everything. Lo siento." He mumbled, arms crossed over his chest. Did he just speak Spanish to me? Does he even know any Italian?

"It's fine. I'll just pick something myself. Grazie." I said, beginning to sift through the pile. He smiled brightly at me, a complete mimicry of Antonio's.

"Prego!" He said and he shut the door behind him. I stared in shock at the place where he just stood. He knows Spanish and Italian? What!? Shaking my head, I continued my journey into the pile.

"Ah, there he is~! Doesn't he look nice!?" Antonio said as I walked into the living room area of the house. The walls were plain and the furniture was leather. A huge TV sat against the wall.

"I told you he would clean up well, he is Italian after all." My brother's voice rang just as cheerfully. I sent them both glares and slumped onto the couch. My brother sat on my left while Antonio sat on my right.

"So, Feliciano, how was school today?" Antonio asked as he poured himself a glass of wine. Feliciano sighed.

"We had a substitute teacher from America in my History class and all she did was rave on and on about the Cold War. Why do I care about Russia and America?" He continued to doodle on a piece of paper.

"You'll care if Russia gets crazy and decides to try to gain power over the rest of Europe. World War II only ended eleven years ago." I said. Antonio took a sip.

"Do you know anything about history?" Feliciano asked me. I shrugged.

"Only if it's about Europe. You don't get to learn a lot when you live on the streets for five years." I said. His eyes lit up.

"Great! Then, you can help me with my homework!" He raced up the stairs, leaving me with Antonio.

"He doesn't know." He said.

"Doesn't know what?"

"He doesn't know that you're his brother. He only knows that he's from Italy and I adopted him." I clenched my hands into fists.

"Adopted him!? He was ripped from my mother's arms! I watched it happen!" I yelled, my face turning red. Antonio covered my mouth with his palm and I struggled for release because it was becoming hard to breath.

"Watch your mouth. I haven't told him for a reason and I will not let you spoil this for me. I took him from the fascist house that he was being kept in and I raised him as my own. Now, listen well because you don't want me to have to repeat myself. Do not tell him. Do not tell him about his mother, about his father, about you, nada or I will handle you personally. Have I made myself clear?" His eyes bore into mine and I nodded. He smiled. "Bueno."

"So, I have to do this report on WWI and the motivation behind it. Do you know anything about that?" Feliciano's voice rang clear in the silent room. Antonio released my face and I took in as much air as I could.

"Yeah, I do. I'll help you, if you want." I said. Feliciano's eyes almost overtook the brightness of his smile.

"Yay~!" He exclaimed. Grabbing his arm, I led us to the kitchen.

Night fell gently over the house as Feliciano and I continued to work on his report. The house was quiet, the sound of the typewriter we were using echoing in the small room.

"I think that this is probably the best report I've ever written! And it only took us a day! Without you, I would have taken all week!" He shuffled through the pages, putting them in order. I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. It's amazing how cheerful he could become over the tiniest things. It was cute.

"You did most of the work, don't thank me." I yawned. Dinner was nice, a small seafood salad and wine. Antonio had left us an hour ago; he said that he had important business to take care of. He left us with a babysitter, a woman with light blonde hair and a cat-like smile. She left us a minute ago to smoke a cigarette outside. Feliciano yawned.

"Maybe we should go to bed. Tomorrow is Sunday and I wanted to go to church." He rubbed his tired eyes. I smiled at him.

"Yeah, we should. You go upstairs; I'll tell Miss Emma that we're going to bed." I said. He nodded, heading upstairs. Flicking off the kitchen light, I went outside to the backyard where Miss Emma went. The chilly nighttime air sent a chill down my spine and the atmosphere was very unsettling.

"Miss Emma!" I yelled. She only went out here to smoke a cigarette, so she couldn't have walked very far. I searched around, traveling only as far as I could under the backyard light. "Miss Emma!" I tried again. The light began to grow dim as I walked along the edge of where it still shined. Suddenly, I tripped on something and stumbled, bumping into something warm and soft. It smelled of apples and cigarette smoke. "Oh, thank god I found you Miss Em-" My voice caught in my throat when I noticed that Miss Emma couldn't hear me. Her body was strung up by the arms from a tree branch and her sunny orange dress was coated in blood that had escaped from the deep slit in her throat. From her chest hung a note that read 'Tag, you're it.' I ran back into the door leading into the house, but it wouldn't budge. The person who offed Miss Emma must've locked me out. I heard a twig snap somewhere near me and I ran toward Miss Emma's body, hoping she had anything on her that I could use. I noticed that she didn't have a purse and wasn't wearing a jacket, but if I know anything from stories, women usually keep weapons strapped to legs and hips. Hesitantly, I reached under her dress and latched onto something cold and hard. I pulled it down and unbuckled the gun from its holster. The murderer must've caught her by surprise if the gun was still strapped to her thigh. I checked the cartridge for bullets; it was full. Unlatching the safety, I listened for anything. The air was dead silent. Not even the leaves rustled.

"Put the gun down, kid. You'll shoot your eye out." A man's voice said. Gasping, I whipped around but the sudden rush of blood from my head caused me to stumble and my hands were grabbed. Instinctively, I pulled the trigger. Bullets flew into the open air but one must've rang true because the man cried out and let me go. I ran toward the door and shot the handle off, pushing the door open and charging up the stairs. I frantically pounded on Feliciano's bedroom door. He opened it slowly, and I pushed us both into the room, locking the door.

"What's going on? I heard gunshots." He whispered.

"Call somebody. There's a guy out there and Miss Emma is dead."

"Oh. I see." He pulled a telephone out from under his bed and began dialing a number. I sat on the floor. My fingers were shaking and my heart was beating so loudly that I thought it was going to jump from my chest. Adrenaline raced through my veins, poisoning my blood like acid. It was fueling my brain, sending me on a high that I've never felt before. Feliciano pushed the phone under his bed and sat in front of me.

"Antonio said to wait in here and don't go outside." He gently pulled the gun from my fingers.

Antonio soon showed up. He told us that the guy disappeared but he had some men on call searching. I never felt so tired before in my life. Adrenaline can sure drain everything you've got. All I wanted to do now was sleep. And I did. I curled up on the floor, lying on a makeshift bed that Feliciano had made me. He offered up the left side of his bed for me, but I didn't really feel comfortable sleeping next to him. So, I decided on the floor. I sighed, knowing that he would still wake me up for Sunday mass, but that didn't bother me as much as it probably would've if I weren't so tired.


End file.
